


Bookworm to Badass

by Pandorascube



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 20/20 challenge, BAMF Hermione Granger, Creature Fic, DFW 2020 Challenge, Draco in Distress, F/M, Facebook: Dramione Fanfiction Writers, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandorascube/pseuds/Pandorascube
Summary: Guess who will rescue our Draco-in-distress?Intro for a set of B2B one-shot vignettes!Written for the 20/20 Challenge for DFWBeta thanks to nuclearnik!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

_ Well, this is horrible. _ Draco woke slowly and peered around what appeared to be a crypt. After fumbling fruitlessly for his wand, he blinked rapidly, trying to speed up his eyes’ adjustment to the dark. The faint light from a darkened stained-glass window on the back wall revealed cobwebs, walls of grave markers, and ornate inscriptions and wall decor typical of a crypt. Yes, it was definitely a crypt or catacomb of some sort, and he was smack in the middle in an uncovered stone coffin. He was unbound, which was not a great sign. The room was probably sealed then. He sighed, climbing out of the tomb and trying to shake his grogginess. He must have been drugged. Running a hand through his hair, he almost gagged at the cobwebs and dust he had already picked up from his surroundings.

“When was I drugged?” Draco muttered to himself. He felt a tinge of pain in his neck and struggled to remember the injury. He found what was quite a nasty bite mark near his carotid and winced as he explored the swollen skin around it.  _ Venom, maybe,  _ he deduced. It was a clean wound. Suspicious. Just in case, he tried the ornate door of wood and metal leading out of his cell. 

“I’m never fucking lucky,” he grumbled as it didn’t give at all. He spent a few minutes pounding and yelling to no avail. “Yes, never fucking lucky.” He slid down the door to catch his breath and ponder his life choices yet again.  _ This is Merlin’s balls and not in a good way. _

~~~~~~~

Hermione, however, was having the opposite problem. She cringed as yet another Muggle sidled up to her at the bar of a too loud, too crowded, and too dark club she had the misfortune of visiting. That particular Muggle made the ghastly mistake of trying to tuck a lock of her long, curly hair behind her ear. She grabbed his wrist and slammed it hard onto the bar in front of them.

“Don’t touch me,” she commanded, her voice low and menacing. He put his hands up in surrender and backed away, muttering about crazy bitches. 

“Some men like their bitches crazy.” The bartender winked and dropped another Belvedere and water on her coaster. 

“Does my body language make it seem like I’d love some company? Am I making an inviting face without my knowledge? Have I accidentally made eye contact with a single soul in this hellhole?” She surrendered her empty glass with a rare smile. 

The bartender chuckled. “You look like a feral cat, but men are idiots.” Hermione laughed. She  _ was _ a feral cat, essentially. She skolled her drink with a dramatic sigh and slapped some money on the bar.

“Thanks, Derek.” She nodded to the bartender and moved quickly into the cold night air. She checked her watch.  _ Still enough time to check out one more cemetery,  _ she decided, sliding into her black mustang. She checked her list and googled  _ St. Andrew’s Cemetery and Arboretum _ . Perhaps the trees would be attractive to her prey. The last three places had been a bust. As she sped off, she didn’t notice the woman slinking from the bar after her.

~~~~~~~

Draco scrambled away from the door at the sound of movement on the other side. He crouched next to the center tomb, trying to be ready for anything.  _ No wand, no weapon. This is bloody awesome.  _ The light from a wand momentarily blinded him as the door swung open.

“Malfoy?” He was surprised at the strangely familiar voice.

“Granger?” His eyes adjusted and confirmed his suspicion. 

“What the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into?” Her voice was more severe than he remembered, measured and deliberate, but still as chastising as ever.

“I don’t fucking know,” he spluttered, angry at his vulnerability. “I’ve spent hours trying to figure it out, but the memory is gone. I was at a club and now I’m here.”

“The New Night on 86th and Ditch?”

“Yes, how did you know? And what are you doing here? How did you find me? Were you looking—”

“We’ll have time for questions later. We should move before your captor comes back,” Hermione cut him off, moving back into the antechamber.

“Yes, but— My wand is gone…”

“ _ Accio _ Draco’s wand.” Hermione swished her wand, momentarily plunging them back into darkness. “Got it!” She cast another  _ Lumos _ and handed Draco his wand. “It was out here.” Hermione rolled her eyes as he clutched it desperately. 

“Don’t judge me. You’d feel the same,” he huffed indignantly. 

Hermione smiled to herself at the untruth of that statement. It had been almost a year since she relied solely on her wand for anything. There were too many variables in her day to day life to allow such dependency on a wand. 

“Let’s move,” she commanded and he followed wordlessly. Draco paused to smile in relief as he tasted the freshness of the cemetery air outside the catacomb. “Keep it moving, they could come back any—” 

Hermione barely had time to yelp as a blurred figure threw her into a nearby pedestal headstone. Draco pulled his wand, firing an  _ Incarcerous _ at the figure. A short blonde woman froze, smiling at him with long bared fangs and slitted eyes. 

“Hello, lover,” she drawled. “You’re awake.” She chuckled then lunged at him, shaking off the magic. 

“ _ Protego _ !” Draco yelped as she strained against his shield, shrinking it as she moved slowly closer. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He dropped the shield to cast a quick  _ Bombarda, _ and she was knocked off her feet. 

As Draco fumbled with his next move against a creature almost impervious to his magic, Hermione rolled from behind a headstone, straddling the creature and plunging a silver dagger into her heart. The creature screamed, and a flash of light knocked Hermione back. Hermione moved back to the body, limping slightly. She checked the mouth and the eyes, then retrieved the silver dagger, wiping it on the girl’s clothes. 

“Oh—” Hermione gave a start as she turned to see Draco watching her with eyes wide and mouth open. “Uh… She’s dead, and we’re safe! Yay!”

“What… the… fuck..?” Draco barely found words.

“Well, it looks like you were captured and bitten by a vetala,” Hermione began explaining clinically. “Her bite released venom into your system, and she probably fed on your blood as well. She was keeping you for later feedings, and you probably would have died after four or five.”

“My magic didn’t work on that vampire—”

“ _ Vetala. _ They have a great deal of resistance to conventional magic. Pretty much the only way to get rid of them is with a silver blade or some burial rite situation. You can’t even kill their host during the day. They’ll just find another one. It’s quite fascinating. They rest in stones during the day—”

“It is not fascinating! We almost died!”

“You almost died…”

“Morgana’s tit, Granger! Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I read a lot…”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s a long story, Malfoy. Can’t you just be grateful so we can move on with our lives?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you,” Draco conceded. “Now, tell me the story of bookworm to badass.” 


	2. The Bow of Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is making it very hard for our duo to keep their hands to themselves.
> 
> Thanks again NuclearNik!
> 
> February part of the 20/20 challenge

_Three Months Post Initial Vetala Meet-Cute_

He pressed her hard into the wall, his breath hot against her skin making the hairs of her neck stand on end. His mouth was buried in her neck, and she dug her hands into his shoulder blades with a whimper. _Closer. I need him closer._ She moaned as he lifted her thigh, pressing his impossibly hard erection right against her center.

“Hermione…” he groaned as her hands slid into his hair, gripping his short locks and pulling his lips to hers.

“Draco, please!” she whined, rubbing herself against him fervently and hungrily tasting his lips. She shrieked raucously against his mouth as he lifted her with a growl and fumbled his key into the nearby door. The door swung open, and he pulled it shut behind them as he crossed the threshold.

“Anything you want—” They both froze suddenly, mid-kiss. “What’s going on?” Draco broke the awkward silence.

“Can you put me down?” She backed away quickly as he complied.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he mumbled, running a hand through the hair she had just tousled.

“We were coming back for a book on…” She tried very hard to look at anything but him, stumbling over her memories. His flat in mainland Greece was as opulent as expected with antique furniture and an open floorplan.

“On Ancient Greek pottery, and then suddenly, your tongue was in my mouth?” He grinned playfully at her.

“Suddenly, _your_ tongue was in _my_ mouth!” She turned a brilliant crimson and dodged his gaze again, pacing in front of a large fireplace. “We’re getting distracted—”

“It was _very_ distracting,” Draco chuckled. “But in all seriousness, it was weird, right?”

“Of course!”

“I mean, I’m always down for some, ya know... - If that’s what’s on the table—” Draco plopped into an oversized armchair to watch her nervous energy.

“It’s not!”

“But that was different, like uncontrollable—”

“Yes! Completely uncontrollable, not anyone’s fault or having any basis in reality—”

“Not any basis in reality? Circe, woman, words hurt.”

“I didn’t mean it like— I mean, you’re attractive enough, and you have muscles— I’m sure plenty of women—” Hermione murmured, pausing in her frenetic pacing.

“Yes! Plenty of women! That’s sufficient. We can move on.”

“Thank Merlin! Are we thinking it was a spell? The Imperius Curse?”

“Then why would we be fine now? No one would _Imperio_ us just to snog in the hallway,” Draco mused. “It could be a cursed object.”

“Or some sort of creature? Like a Veela or a succubus?”

Draco scoffed. “Succubus?” Draco grimaced at Hermione’s nod. “Oh, they’re real. _Perfect._ I thought most of this was theoretical.”

“But why would it target us? Succubi don’t typically incite desire in others without feeding directly and Veela can’t normally affect women.”

“Well, maybe I was affected, and you were just acting out on a subconscious desire—” Hermione cut him off with an incredulous laugh. “Grow up. It was a legitimate hypothesis.”

“Not particularly.”

“Again, words—”

“You’ll survive,” Hermione smirked. “Okay, so we can rule out a Veela or a succubus.”

“Most creatures tend to be involved in the... ya know—”

“You can say sex, Draco. Or intercourse, fucking, making love, making the beast with two backs, coitus, hanky panky—”

“I will never say ‘hanky panky!’ But yes, most creatures prefer to participate in the _fucking,_ or like a Pombero, get a little rapey.”

“Pombero?” She raised an eyebrow at him

“It’s from Brazil, and yes, I’m sure you’re quite surprised that I did my research after our lovely date with the vetala.”

“I know what it is, it’s just quite esoteric. But you’re right, I’m impressed. What other creatures have you researched?”

“Popobawa, liderc, chuiael, trauco, satyr—”

“Draco, did you just research creatures of a pervy, sexual nature?”

“Oh, I think that’s a gross generalization. These creatures have nuances—”

“Draco!”

“We’re getting off track. So none of those seem to be able to incite lust—”

“I can’t believe you’ve used your near-death experience as an excuse to become an expert in sexually deviant magical creatures!”

“All knowledge is worth having. But our problem—”

“I need some fucking air.” Hermione opened the door, closing it with a bang behind her.

“Far be it from me to pick a potentially useful specialization—” A knock cut off Draco’s muttering. “Already calm? How unexpected.” He opened the door with a smirk and then a yelp as he was pulled halfway into the hallway.

“Oh, Draco, I need your hands and lips all over me.” Hermione took a voracious kiss from his mouth. He tried to speak around her deliciously dexterous tongue, clinging to the inside of the door frame. With a yank, he pulled her back inside, landing on his back with the witch atop him.

“Maybe we stay in here,” Draco groaned. “Stop wiggling.”

“How are you— Ugh!” Hermione scrambled off him with a petulant scoff. “I can’t believe your member—”

“It’s an autonomic reaction and _you_ started it!” He shuffled positions to shield himself from her view. “And don’t talk about my _member_ , that makes it worse.”

“There’s something wrong with your hallway.” Hermione finally said, breaking the awkward silence that had settled around them.

“It was fine until you walked in it,” he muttered.

“Oh, don’t sulk; we don’t have time for it. Get me that book.” Hermione crossed her arms as he rose to scrutinize one of the sweeping bookshelves lining his living room.

“ _Oh, Draco, thank you for letting me use your unusually large and virile library._ Why, you’re quite welcome, Your Majesty. Anything for the greater good.”

“Sulking was better. ‘Large and virile library.’ You’re mad—” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re talking about your _member_ , aren’t you?”

“I mean, you definitely felt it, and you didn’t even _say anything._ ”

“I thought we _weren’t_ talking about your member!”

“Well, you know that I’m quite vain and require much external validation—”

“At least the prat is self-aware,” Hermione muttered to herself. “Just give me the bloody book!”

“Here you go,” Draco acquiesced glumly. He sank back into his armchair with a dramatic sigh.

“We have to owl Harry,” Hermione mentioned as she flipped through the pages. “I don’t see any creatures related to the objects we found. It was just run-of-the-mill pottery with mosaics.”

“Why do we need Harry?” Draco wrinkled his nose.

“Because we can’t leave this room to go investigate the problem. Why are we even safe in this room anyway?”

“Oh—” Draco gasped suddenly and bolted up from his chair. He began rummaging in a chest next to the door. He pulled out an intricately decorated, red and gold jewelry box. “Ha! Ring of Dispel! If this is why we’re safe in here, it’s definitely a cursed object.”

“We could have been cursed by a creature. It would still dispel a cast curse.”

“Did you see anyone cast a curse on us?” Draco smiled smugly at her.

“Damn. You’re right,” Hermione groaned, slamming the book shut as Draco preened over her concession that he was correct. “All right, we’ll have to go back to the site now and break the spell.”

“We could also take a dinner break or go back tomorrow. It was creepy when there was daylight—”

“Afraid, Malfoy?”

Draco sniffed the air. “No, just hungry.”

“Grab a snack. We’re heading out.”

~~~~~~~

“So how did you end up with a Ring of Dispel in your flat?” Hermione asked as they trudged along the cliffs of Naxos.

“I don’t even know. My mother used to tell me a story about the Lady of the Lake and Sir Lancelot, but I doubt it’s the original one. From what I understand, there was a phase where everyone was making garish replicas.” Draco paused and lifted their entwined hands to look at the ornate ring.

“It was strong enough to protect your flat, and its range is enough for both of us out here. Maybe it is the original.” Hermione fidgeted at the reminder of their constant contact and at the steamy memory of why it was necessary. “Come on, the secret entrance is right past the Portara.”

Draco smiled at the simple beauty of the sun setting behind the door-like ruins of the Temple of Apollo.

“I still don’t understand why the Diadem of Ariadne would be near the Temple of Apollo,” Draco grumbled as Hermione pulled him along.

“I’ve told you already! This is right by the Palatia, or Island of Ariadne, where Dionysus supposedly found Ariadne mourning for Theseus and fell in love with her—”

“Abducted, you mean, or watched her kill herself. There’s a number of versions.”

“This is my expedition and we’re going with my interpretation. I didn’t ask you to come along.”

“I’m hurt! After I saved your ass with that second vetala, you know you need me.”

“I saved you first! We were even until you just showed up and insisted on helping.”

“I have access to a Portkey to Greece and a nearby flat we can work out of. It would be flagrant neglect not to offer my services.”

“You’re infuriating!” Hermione wrenched her hand away from Draco’s and moved quickly toward the rock formation signifying the secret cave.

Draco grimaced, trailing behind her warily. _Is the curse broken?_ he wondered as she disappeared into the glamoured cave mouth.

The cave was as they left it, walls lined with shelves of pottery all in beautiful condition. Twin altars ran parallel to the walls, ornate, but not the star of the show. A mosaic depicting Apollo on his lyre, Dionysus lounging with Ariadne on a chaise, and satyrs and maenads reveling covered the entire back wall. Hermione was tracing the air around Ariadne with her wand, muttering charms and counter-spells. She froze as she heard Draco approach, turning slowly with a coy look on her face.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ It’s about time you joined me in here.” Hermione sidled closer, faced flushed and hungry. “Now I have you right where I want you.” Draco inwardly shuddered as she ran her wand down his chest. “Have you ever made love amid thousands of years of history? It’ll be like Dionysus and Ariadne, wild and free.” She leaned closer to him and whispered, “ _Finite,_ ” as she licked his earlobe.

Draco groaned and grasped her arms as his body became free. “Sweet Circe, woman,” he whispered as he kissed her. She moaned against his lips and pulled him toward the first altar. He obligingly lifted her onto it, sliding his hands in her hair as she scrambled to untuck his shirt. _The ring must not be working,_ Draco thought to himself. _Wait, if my thoughts are this clear_ — He groaned and began extricating himself from her hands.

“Granger!” He held her wrists in one hand as she wriggled against him in protest. “Hermione, stop! Come back to me.” He cupped her cheek, pressing the ring into her skin.

“Draco, please. Draco,” she keened, wrapping her legs around him. “I want this so much. I need you so deep inside me. I need your mouth—” Draco dropped her cheek, grabbing his wand to cast a _Silencio_.

“Not like this, witch,” He smiled sadly and cast his own full Body-Bind on her. Taking a calming breath, he reached into her beaded bag that had been discarded by the mosaic.

“ _Accio_ Probity Probe!” The thin, gold rod once favored by the Death Eaters when they controlled Gringott’s flew into his hand. “I knew you would have one of these.” He smiled at the glaring witch. “I promise you’ll thank me for this. Now just to find whatever hidden object is causing us to snog uncontrollably.” The mosaic revealed no curses or hidden objects, and the pottery was also benign.

“Merlin,” Draco gasped as the Probe began to shake as he passed it over the second altar. He tried a _Revelio_ to no avail and methodically began searching for a hidden compartment. Time was passing quickly, and he was getting frustrated. He glanced back over at Hermione. He was surprised to see that her eyes now contained some kind of know-it-all fervor. He wandlessly undid the silencing spell, hoping she had the answer.

“ _Draco,_ ” she rasped. “Why don’t you just give in? I know you want to thrust your wand deep inside—”

“No, we’re going back to silence from you,” he muttered, recasting. _Inside,_ he suddenly thought to himself. _The daft witch kind of solved it!_

“ _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ” he commanded with a textbook swish and flick. The top of the altar creaked and then lifted off. The altar contained a few objects scattered over a painting of Eros striking Dionysus with his arrow. With a flick of the Probe, a bow and arrow matching the relief appeared with a crack. “Yes, definitely a cursed object. The Bow of Eros.” He glanced over to Hermione triumphantly. “Makes sense right?”

“ _Surgito!_ ” he cried, running his wand along the bow. Both he and Hermione glowed for a second, and then the lid slid back onto the altar with a resounding bang.

“Oh, Draco! That was brilliant!” Draco almost lost his balance as the witch embraced him roughly. “I was no help at all! I’m so sorry—”

“Hush, Hermione,” he murmured softly, pulling her close and tipping her chin up toward his lips. He kissed her slowly, soft and tentative. She gave in for a second and then froze, bracing her hands against his chest.

“Oh no,” she whispered against his lips. “The curse—”

“It’s lifted. I just really want to kiss you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - Non-con
> 
> The impetus for Hermione's transformation is revealed.

_ Before _

Hermione came back to herself slowly, sprawled naked on a cold, concrete floor. She gasped in a breath, taking stock of her body and surroundings before daring to move. The ceiling was high, severe, and dark accented by uncamouflaged supports. She shivered; the air was cold as well, and her first movements were to hug herself and curl into the fetal position. She ached everywhere. She tried to isolate the worst areas, running her hands over her body. Her lips were chapped and swollen, and her throat felt raw. Bite marks and bruises littered her neck and torso, and there was what felt like dried blood around some of the more severe marks on her shoulders.

She suddenly remembered rough hands in her hair, yanking her head to the side, and the sudden deep pain of his teeth as he thrust equally violently into her pussy. In the memory, she gasped and moaned deeply in pleasure as another mouth fastened teeth around her nipple, trailing a hand down to rub her clit. Tears filled her eyes as pleasure from the memory rippled unwelcome down her spine. 

Hermione cringed and curled up tighter. She felt lower on her body, finding more dried liquids and more evidence of rough amorous attention. Her hips felt strained, and the ache between her legs was greater than she’d ever felt. 

_ How? And who?  _

This wasn’t her. She didn’t end up in these situations; she was the good one. Sitting up in frustration, she searched for her wand and clothes, spying her wand a few feet away but eerily nothing else in the entire warehouse. She rose shakily and moved to pick it up, groaning at the effort. 

The last thing she remembered other than the uncharacteristically pornographic flashback was leaving the Wizarding department of the British Library where she worked as a researcher and cataloguer. Harry had stopped by with some questions for a case he was working on in the Auror department, and Hermione had been loaded with texts so she could spend the evening researching esoteric weaponry and drinking tea with Crookshanks. 

_ “What a lovely witch.” _ The memory of a faceless, laughing being sent a shiver down her spine, and her stomach spasmed, threatening to empty. Wand in hand, she allowed herself to crumple to the ground in hysterical sobs. 

The dank warehouse was very different in Hermione’s flashback. Last night, or whenever she had been last conscious, it had been brightly lit and full to the brim with beings and people of all sorts. The walls were littered with sconces, torches, and warm tapestries of idyllic nature scenes. She remembered feeling soft moss and grass beneath her feet, and the air had been soft and warm, sounds of nature accenting the raucous conversations and carnal moans. Though these kinds of social situations generally heightened her anxiety, she didn’t recall feeling uncomfortable or frightened, and strangely the pockets of enthusiastic couplings seemed oddly appropriate. There was definitely some sort of magic afoot.

“Hermione!” She rolled into a more upright ball and swung her wand to the voice. 

“It’s me. It’s Harry. I’ve been worried!” He raised his hands in surrender as he moved slowly closer to her. Her eyes tracked his movements, but she didn’t trust herself to speak. 

“How did you find me?” Hermione’s voice was shaky, but her wand arm was unwavering. “Prove you’re Harry.”

“The last time we played Fuck, Marry, Kill it was N—”

“Oh, Harry! Thank Merlin.” Hermione lowered her arm.

“This building is warded against Patronuses and owls, but I was able to track where they were leaving off.” She was beginning to shake as she struggled to process his words. “You look like you’re in shock. Let me get you to St. Mungo’s.” She nodded and pulled her arms tightly around herself, her wand still in a death grip. 

~~~~~~~

“This makes no sense. Why can’t we see him?” Hermione growled at the blurred figure as she walked through her memory of the prior evening. 

She and Harry were at the DMLE, in spite of his insistence that the few hours at St. Mungo’s weren’t enough for her to recover. Based on her tone and the look in her eyes, he knew that she would be investigating with or without him, so he followed her back to his office and then into his department’s Pensieve. The memories had played out easily despite Hermione’s inability to make sense of them organically. Her brain felt like it was on the other side of a  _ Muffilato. _

“Maybe— Er—” Harry stammered, accidentally glancing at Hermione’s naked, writhing form in the memory. He settled on a brightly dancing wall sconce with his gaze. “He probably used some sort of charm or hex to protect his identity.”

“Harry, if you’re not helping me look for clues in the memory, why are you here?” Hermione sighed, walking around the blurred figure that was currently worshipping her body.

“Moral support?” Harry flinched as Hermione in the memory let out a particularly lascivious moan.

“It’s fine. We just have to find him. I was under some sort of spell, and I participated in an orgy. It’s fine,” she insisted, her voice wavering despite every effort to keep it steady. “We just have to find him.”

“That looks familiar!” Harry called out, pointing to a long staff covered in ivy that bunched elegantly at the top. He stepped over a couple engaged in mutual oral pleasure to where the staff was leaning against a table covered in nuts, berries, and other assorted fruit. 

“Oh, a thyrsus,” Hermione exclaimed, joining him in his inspection. “When you were describing the weapon your killer used, I was thinking bow staff. This isn’t traditionally a weapon.”

“Well, we wouldn’t have needed a specialist if it was a bow staff,” Harry grumbled. “We do have some semblance of competency. But this... this explains the strange blunt force trauma and the witness statements, but I still don’t understand—” They both froze as the many revellers seemed to climax loudly in chorus.

“That’s just fucking creepy.” Hermione scoffed at her past self cuddling languidly with the blurred creature in post-coital satisfaction. 

Suddenly, the thyrsus shook and then shot into the outstretched hand of its master. With a distorted chuckle, the creature leaned over Memory Hermione and began running the staff along her skin. She keened and squirmed under the ministrations. 

“Yeah, I’m done. Let’s get out of here.” Current Hermione shivered and not from pleasure.

~~~~~~~

“So according to Muggle mythology, the thyrsus is a staff generally wielded by Dionysus and his followers, the maenads and satyrs. There is plenty of literature that talks about it and Dionysus inciting madness which is very much in line with what we saw in my memory.” Hermione sank into a chair in Harry’s office.

“She can’t seriously be giving a lecture after all that happened today,” Harry’s partner, Dean Thomas whispered to him as Hermione rummaged through her beaded bag for a book. Harry put a finger to his lips and looked at the witch warily.

“I’m not just speaking for my own benefit, gentlemen,” Hermione huffed as she began flipping through a book on ancient magical beings. “If you’re not taking this situation seriously, I don’t understand why you got me involved in the first place.” She paused as if losing her train of thought.

“Here we go!” Hermione grinned. “Euripedes - apparently a wizard - wrote of the thyrsus as a weapon and even talked about ‘brute wildness.’” 

“‘Brute wildness’ would definitely describe a few of the bodies,” Dean murmured.

“You said they were torn apart, right? There are plenty of accounts where maenads killed people like that during the ecstatic frenzy of their rituals.” Hermione flipped further.

“I guess we’re lucky you got the orgy and not the frenzy then,” Dean said wryly.

Harry punched his partner’s shoulder while Hermione gave him a distasteful glare.

“What? She’s going on like nothing—”

“I know you don’t know better, but here’s the process. Horrible stuff happens, we fix it, then we fall apart,” Hermione shrilled, slamming the book onto the conference table. “We’re handling this just like the Horcrux hunt, Umbridge’s reign, and Ron’s Quidditch career.”

“Of course,” Harry reassured her. “Problem, solution, then processing emotions and humanity.”

“Exactly! Any questions?” Hermione looked at Dean expectantly.

“So, is the thyrsus more likely to be a wandlike channel for magic or some sort of enchanted object?” Dean sighed.

“Excellent question!” Hermione almost squealed.


End file.
